Maelstrom
by iyimgrace
Summary: Tom finds himself in the last place he thinks he needs to be...at her door on the precipice of something neither of them are prepared for. AU, Set somewhere after they get the ship back and the events of Baltimore. Post 1x10: No Place Like Home.


The sting from the rasp of his knuckles against the metal door brought Tom back to the reality of his actions and the current unstable state of mind. Unsure of how he got here, he stood blank, motionless. His mind hovered in a daze, clouded with thoughts and feelings he couldn't begin to sort. Somehow, his feet had taken him down two levels to the port side of the ship; to the one person he needed to be away from more than ever. Yet, she was the one person he had to be near. Craved to be near.

Seconds passed and his palms grew damp with anxiety. His lungs froze with emotions he couldn't give a name. The smart course of action would have been to turn and walk away. Claim that he'd been called to the bridge for whatever reason and if questioned as to his presence near her cabin, he could say he was just there to check in on her well-being. Baltimore had taken its toll on everyone. His attentiveness had extended to the entire crew. She was a part of that, along with his family now. Life had a whole new set of parameters. They were all his responsibility.

Decision made, he was about to turn about face when the door opened. The look of surprise on her face felt like a slap and he fought the grimace of self-recrimination for the mistaken assumption he had a right to be here. But her mouth formed a slow, sad smile and she stepped aside to offer him entry without a word, almost as if she'd been expecting him.

Tom didn't dare to hope that were the case, because this wasn't something they did––console each other. Though things had swiftly slid in that direction right after her discovery of the cure, they had never broached that territory of friendship and comfort. He was the captain and she was the driven scientist, both relegated to strict roles of propriety and emotional distance. Yet those boundaries blurred more and more with each passing day.

He stepped inside the small cabin, suddenly feeling twice his size in comparison to her tiny frame wrapped in an overlarge sweater and the crowded berth a quarter the size of his own. Again, the feeling that he didn't belong here niggled at him. He should leave. The sound the door closing behind him jarred in his head and he shifted on his feet. Everything about this felt so wrong.

He didn't know what to do with his hands so he shoved them in his pockets, belatedly realizing he was here in her quarters wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. His sleep clothes, for God's sakes. He didn't even know what time it was.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" His voice sounded strange, distant in his own ears.

"No." She let out a sigh and then gave him a sheepish smile. "I haven't been able to sleep since we got back."

He nodded. A quick glance at the clock on her shelf told him it was 0200.

"You either?" She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah." He let out a rueful grunt. "I'm sorry. It's late. I don't know why I'm here."

He turned to go, like he should have done minutes go but she stayed him with her hand to his arm. Her touch jolted through him. The softness of her delicate fingers on his skin took him to places he needed to push from his mind. The simple touch so powerful, so loaded with connotations and undertones neither were capable of accepting.

"Tom. How are you?" His name on her lips, the soft lull of her voice and the true compassion in her eyes conjured a maelstrom of emotions he'd been fighting to keep a lid on since he'd been reunited with his family. His children and his father, his crew and gaining back control of his ship had been the priority. He'd saved them. All but one.

Darien.

He didn't have time grieve. The guilt of that…and his conflicting feelings…weighed on him like an anchor around his neck.

Her hand ran softly up his forearm in an encouraging gesture, one meant to give comfort and support, but took the crack in his resolve and blasted it wide open. Emotions and racing thoughts choked in his throat, he couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. Tears he'd never shed pooled at the edges of his lashes. Her sad expression swam in his vision. He was frozen, falling apart under his grief and he didn't know what to do.

In an instant, her arms wound around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace. The last tethers of his control snapped and the grief poured out of him into her arms. He clung to her like she was his lifeline. A part of him feared that if he let go he would fall right through the earth and be swallowed whole so he held fast. Fear, desire, grief and shame commingled in a heady cocktail of regret and indecision as his heart tore apart before his eyes.

Her small hands ran over his back and his hair as she rocked him, murmuring soothing words against his temple. Her lips hovered over his ear whispering the comfort and forgiveness he so needed to hear. So many things had gone wrong, so many missteps, so many choices to do differently. Maybe he could have saved her…his wife, the woman he loved for twenty years and the mother of his children. He had been too late. There were only maybes left now.

Guilt warred within him, tearing him to shreds inside…his inability to protect her clashed against his newest revelation that he might have unconsciously accepted weeks ago that Darien could have been dead already. It had to be the only explanation for the depth of his feelings for the woman in his arms right now. Because Tom Chandler never would betray his beloved wife with burgeoning desires for another woman.

He refused to reconcile that truth.

In this world of chaos, nothing was certain. Nothing would ever again be as it should be. They were in new uncharted territory with only instinct and survival to guide them. This was their new normal.

When his sorrow subsided, he slowly loosened his hold. Her hands came to his shoulders and rubbed gently. Once more, he was struck by how tiny she was. Her small hands against his large shoulders, her thin frame so small in his arms he could have wound his arms around her twice. She was strong in so many ways, tough, unyielding and determined. But he was driven to protect her, not because she was a woman, but because she was important to the mission, the survival of the human race. Dr. Rachel Scott. And somewhere along the way, she had become important to him.

A laugh almost surfaced because their roles had reversed. She was the one doing the protecting. But he was too shaken, too empty to muster even a hint of humor at that irony.

He stared down into her lovely face and noticed her eyes were filled with tears. Tears that she'd cried for him as she absorbed his pain and his heart broke. He didn't want her to cry for him. None of this was her doing. He opened his mouth to speak but she hushed him with a finger to his lips. Tingles resonated from the simple contact. Instead, her hand slipped into his and tugged him gently toward her bunk.

He halted, rooted his feet to the deck. Fear, uncertainty and the knowledge that he so very much wanted what she might have been offering made him not go any further. Her face softened and she placed her other hand over his heart. "Stay. Let me take care of you just for tonight."

He didn't trust himself to speak. Mostly because he would have said no. But he wanted this. His heart knew what he needed, that he was desperate for her in this moment of solitude, before his mind did. That was how he ended up at her door in the first place.

His head nodded his surrender and he climbed into the small twin bunk. A brief recollection crossed his mind that he hadn't slept in one of these confined spaces in almost a decade, when he was Lt. Green's age, and ten years more flexible. But he wouldn't let his mind calculate the logistics of how this was going to work because she'd already snuggled in beside him. Her back molded to his chest, angles and curves filling recesses as old as time. A chaste and simple position, yet one rife with intimacy. Before he knew it, his arm was curling around her waist pulling her infinitely closer. The scent of Navy issue soap and what was probably the precious last drops of her civilian shampoo, something floral mixed with the scent of the sea, filled his senses. Solace washed over him and he buried his nose deep into the long strands of her hair until he was pressed up against the subtle curve of her skull. A delicate shudder escaped her lips, sweet and full of things he suspected she struggled not to say.

They were beyond words at this point, lines blurred, emotional depths plumbed yet unbidden. There was only them, here in each other's arms, a tiny respite in the turmoil of the world around them. Words could be spoken later, if need be. He had no idea what he would say to her, but right now it didn't matter. Only this did.

Her fingers laced in his and she brought his knuckles to her lips. Her soft breaths caressed his skin, warm and so very alive. Her warmth, openness and the depth of compassion she never let anyone see surrounded him like a balm of hope. Right before his eyes closed, a feeling of peace washed over him, a sense of calm that he hadn't felt in months since the world fell apart. He knew they would carry on. Together. The rock to each other's storm.


End file.
